Catoptric (an Imagine series)
by Rasain
Summary: Imagine #1: Y/N is an Argent and she is trained by Chris, but one of the sessions left her with some mental scars. Allison is worried for Y/N, while Isaac is terrified of her. / Rating will fluctuate. The genres will vary.


**Imagine #1** : Y/N is an Argent and she is trained by Chris, but one of the sessions left her with some mental scars. Allison is worried for Y/N, while Isaac is terrified of her.

/

The weather's so cold that you feel the need to pull the hem of the crocheted sweater over your knees. The thing's oversized, but it doesn't go past your thigh and you'd want it to go only a little bit farther down so that you preserve some heat. The tree branches are creaking above your head and you once again pull your shoulders forward in a feeble attempt to fold yourself in and keep warm.

It's mid January and the threatening clouds are rolling over your head, partially hiding the moon from sight. There's thick mist gathering around your ankles, teasingly caressing the skin above the edge of the high heeled boots. You feel the heels digging in the frozen ground as you push back into the tree trunk so that you don't strain your bound wrists too much. Even so, the scratches that the bark's left are deep and bleeding and that gives you something to ponder on. How long has it been since you've been tied up to this damn tree and left alone, in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night, without a word? Not one freaking word, only a sneer and a huff when you attempted a kick to the face with your elbow, right before you found yourself immobilized and vulnerable.

The sudden clinking of the metal around your wrists makes your breath catch. You wait for someone to come and check on you. Still, just as the previous three or four times when the sounds echoed through the darkness, no one makes an appearance. Except for the shifting mass in the corner of your eye.

 _What was that?_

Your head turns on its own before you even gather the courage to think of what it might be. Okay, so there's nothing there. You're met with darkness. Pure, thick darkness. You can barely make out the shapes of the trees, of the rocks, of the – nope, that ain't a rock, because you're pretty sure it just shifted to the side.

Okay, okay, okay – take a deep breath. You're starting to feel alarmed. But it's nothing, right? The black mass is now still. You're looking at a rock. With eyes? Are those eyes? Yep, you're pretty sure the rock has a set of glowing, almond shaped eyes. You measure your breaths, straighten your back and gulp down the knot in your throat that blocks the air to your lungs.

You try to move as little as possible, so that you won't give the dark figure any motive to lunge. With numb fingers, you feel all around the clasps that secure the handcuffs to your wrists. You feel the marks left by years and years of usage and you follow the traces up towards the first chain link. When you don't find what you're searching for, you slide upwards, to the next. And the next. And just when you think you've found it, you see that there's an empty spot where the shadow sat before. Your heart stammers, your knees buckle, and the shaky breath that spills from your lips turns to steam.

This might have given you another few seconds to pull on the slack chain link, but it might have as well shortened your life. You strain to hear any threatening sounds, any shuffling, any steps or heartbeats, but all you hear is the blood rushing through your ears and your own voice telling you to calm down, calm down - calm _the fuck_ down – because you're not going to get out alive if you keep panicking and shrieking and crying – crying? Your cheeks are wet. Your eyes are not. Hell, they're not even burning, you remark as you pull your arms forward again and again, each time with revitalized force. The branches above head partially shelter you from the icy rain. Oh, you feel as if you just realized something remarkable – oh, it's raining.

Then you hear it over the chaos in your head – the thundering growl – a menacing sound that chills your bones more than the winter air ever could - and your panic subsides. It's almost ironic, you whisper to yourself in your head as your knees lock in self-defense, as if your thoughts would echo through the forest if you dare thinking them any louder than this. The black mass is at your back, you feel the vibrations of its chest through the air. It's close, much closer than the tree is to your back, even closer than the handcuffs on your wrist. How do they call it? At a hairbreadth?

And then, something grasps your upper arm with strength and you shriek, the chain looses and finally breaks and you find yourself on your knees. The solid ground suddenly shifts and you turn with it so that the creature holding your arm won't break or dislocate it – and your name echoes through the air. The creature looms over you alive and evil, threatening to pour its darkness over you like a cascade of black water. The raindrops on your lashes prevent you from seeing its eyes, but you know what they're reflecting and it's not pleasant and –

"Y/N! What _the actual hell_ are you trying to do? Breakdance?"

"Coach, I think she was sleeping –"

"Not in my class, no, Y/N!" The raging voice, the echo hit you full blast and you scurry on the floor to get up, but your legs give out and you are reduced to a messy, crying puddle in the middle of the class. Your economics teacher is left with his jaw hanging and the expression on his face tells you everything you need to know about how you're currently looking. "I'll be damned, you look like a train wreck. Stilinski, move your ass and haul her to the med."

The said teen springs from his seat as if he's been waiting on its edge for a few moments and hurries to help you. Another figure's next to you in an instant and you realize it's Allison. She looks as if she's trying hard not to frown, but her lips are frozen in a calming smile. You can't help but distance yourself from Stiles' touch and slouch in her arms. Her fingers splayed over your shoulders anchor you and bring back the warmth you seem to have lost. She notices how cold you are and how utterly terrified you look, but she doesn't say anything. The panic in your eyes is already speaking volumes. The three of you are out of the door just before the bell rings.

She's known you for a few years, and yet you never seemed scared. You were never scared. And you were never angry. Nor were you exceedingly happy. She is pretty sure that you're either a robot, broken, or just very, very good at hiding your emotions, and she herself is very good at that. It comes with being a hunter. Still, she could never read anything on your face. And you're seeing each other daily. Heck, you're living in the same apartment, despite the lack of friendship between you. Each morning she wakes up, and she usually wakes up very early, you're already coming back from your 5 mile run around the neighborhood. She doesn't greet you as she pours herself coffee and you don't seem to acknowledge her presence in the kitchen as you grab a glass from the top counter and move to the sink to fill it to the brim. You usually drink it in a haste then you disappear upstairs to shower. When you're done, she's already pulled the car up front and you get in, dropping your backpack in the backseat. She's the one driving you to school, but you're the one who does all the cooking when there's just the two of you. That's how it goes between you. All she knows about you is your name, your philological and culinary aptness, and that her father agreed to take you under his wing for a while. All you know about her is that she likes to hang out with a few select – but very strange – people. Oh, and you're pretty sure her ex- and current boyfriend are werewolves. What do you both have in common? Well, you're supposed to be killing said werewolves.

She knows for sure that you don't give a damn about Scott's or Isaac's "wolfishness", as you put it (that one time when you had _the conversation_ ), or that you are not even remotely scared of werewolves. But what she saw back in the class, when you flew from your seat with your pen clenched tightly in your hand as a weapon, convinced her that something shook you up pretty hard. And, at the moment, she was sure that she wasn't the only one who caught a glimpse of the angry red cuts on your wrists. You flashed them really nicely to the whole class, which caused some girl behind her to take a deep inhale and Scott to frown slightly.

As Allison handed you your things as you got out of the car, she knew she had to talk to her father about your training sessions. And you knew what she was thinking, her distress made it obvious. Now you lie on you bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering if you'll wake up on the floor once again if you close your eyes. You hear Allison passing your door and you swear that her steps falter as if she is about to knock. But then her presence disappears and you relax back into your pillow, which smells like electric charge. It's weird, but it seems that the ozone that thickened the air that night not only haunts you in your dreams, but also in real life.

The doctor said you needed to get some sleep, that you were sleep deprived. You laugh silently with your face muffled into the pillow because you know it's true. You barely get a few hours of sleep nightly, and even then you toss and turn as if you're running from that big, black mass.

You can't help that your mind is fighting your body. Physically, you're sore and tired, you slip under the blanket and bring your knees to your chest. You begin to numb out. Mentally, you're running and looking for a place to hide or you're still tied up to that damned tree and there's always that darkness around you, moving behind you, breathing upon your neck. You're not even sure if it's a werewolf or other creature, but you're sure that those eyes are not human.

There's thumping in the next room, then the whispering starts. You know Isaac just climbed in through Allison's window and you hear him ask about the incident in the class. He's not asking about you directly, but more like "what was that back there?" and the air swishes out of your lungs as if you've been punched in the gut. You keep your face hidden and your body folded as much as you can to relieve the pain. You've never lied to yourself about liking someone, so you admit once again that there's something that attracts you to this boy. But you know your advances are not welcome. You know he's afraid of you, he can't even look you in the eye on the rare occasions when you actually address him. When you're alone with him, Isaac's so tense as if he expects you to throw knives at his throat.

This might be your fault. You barely started training under Chris Argent, a man who knows no limits when it comes to this and, one night, when you were finally alone at home with your own thoughts, you heard rustling at the window. The next moment, Isaac was pinned to the floor by a knife embedded deep into his shoulder and you were strangling him with a garrote made out of a zip tie. Neither of you got over that.

You wait for them to finish their talking and when the door to your room opens, you keep your pulse in check and your breaths measured. It doesn't take long for whoever decided to check up on you - probably Allison - to leave, and you heave a sigh.


End file.
